Page 90 - The Houseguest

he would be immediately evicted. No firearms, knives, or weapons of any kind were permitted inside the condo. He had a shelf in the refrigerator for his own food to be kept, along with a shelf in the pantry. He could wash his clothes on Thursday afternoons only. He was to use the bathroom across the hall from the room he’d been assigned upstairs, even if he felt the need to use facilities while downstairs. He was issued a cellphone for which I would be covering the costs. I had seven suits I no longer had any use for, so I allowed him access to those, with complementary ties and shoes. I grinned at the irony of a man vying for a low-level job, sweating through an interview while wearing a $3,000 Armani suit.
Brian stopped receiving funds from HRP when the sponsorship paperwork went through the proper channels. He was officially mine to screw with, though he was too stupid to realize.
It had been six months since I’d seen Rachel again in La Barista’s. I’d gone there frequently, observing her without her knowledge, hour after hour, I sat in the booth purportedly reading the daily paper like any other “regular.”
I memorized her schedule, her responsibilities, I solidified details in my mind right down to the watch she wore on her left wrist. I followed her on more than one occasion to her residence, a NY studio apartment, located about a 45-minute train ride away. I gathered from my own intel that she hadn’t done well for herself since the accident. Working in a coffee shop, modestly dressed every day, living in a roach-infested building. I saw her call someone a few times during her breaks, but she would hang up quickly, never actually carrying on a conversation. I
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The Houseguest by Linda Ellis www.LindaEllis.life